


Pie

by Miz_Spectre



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, I Don't Even Know, Reader-Insert, this is such a random thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:58:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5847712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miz_Spectre/pseuds/Miz_Spectre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't technically one, but you doubted that mattered when he was hungry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pie

**Author's Note:**

> Can be set from seasons 2 through early 8.
> 
> I love Dean.
> 
> All recognizable material (characters/concepts/etc.) belongs to the copyright holder(s) of said material. I don't make money from writing fanfiction and don't claim to own any of the copyrighted material. Violation/infringement of copyrighted works is not intended. Original characters and the plot are all that I own.

“Where the hell is Sam?” Dean groans when he spots you enter the motel room and not his brother. “I'm starving.”

“You should've gone then, Dean.” Once you pass him on the way to the so-called kitchen, he tilts his head to watch as you rummage through the cabinets. “There's nothing here!” He looks back to the newspaper just as you turn with hands on your hips so you don't catch him staring. “Did you eat everything while I was gone today?” 

“Hey, don't look at me.” 

“Sam is respectful enough not to eat everything unless he's starving and can't go out.” Crossing the room, you sit across from him at the small table covered with the newspaper. “You, on the other hand, always have room for food.” 

Dean glances up and flashes his typical 'let's just forget anything bad about me' flirtatious smirk that still makes your heart flutter (even though he doesn't know it), the green color of his eyes clear and bright in such close proximity. But then, his suave demeanor is shattered when his stomach growls rather loudly and obnoxiously. 

You cover your mouth, hiding a smile, and he frowns. Dammit, another moment interrupted. 

“You really are hungry,” you chuckle a little. 

Scoffing, Dean once again returns to looking through the newspaper for strange stories that could possibly be a case. Yet again, he is distracted at the rustling sound of fabric as you stand and move over to where your duffel bag sits atop one of the beds. His eyes are glued to your form while you search for something inside your bag. 

He is immediately suspicious when you blatantly hide whatever it is behind your body as you turn and then walk back to the little kitchen, heading straight for the microwave. Again, you use your body as a block so he can't see what you're doing. The crinkling of what sounds like waxed paper doesn't set his mind at ease either. 

You quickly pop something onto a paper plate and into the microwave and set the timer before starting the device. It doesn't take long for a sweet, fruity scent to permeate the motel room. His stomach rumbles at the enticing smell. If he wasn't going to get it, he'd steal it from you and play dirty to do it. 

When the timer goes off, you're quick to take the warmed treat out, still hiding it behind your back as you walk over to him. 

Dean is very surprised to see a pastry on a paper plate slid in front of him. A little bit of red filling oozes out of one side, hot from being nuked in the microwave. He blinks at it and then you. “...what is that?” 

Pulling out the noisy wrapper from your pocket, the bright white and red package glares at him once you've unfolded it. It was a Hostess fruit pie. “You don't see them too much anymore so,” you shifted away a little and wouldn't look at him, “I grabbed one at the convenience store on the way into town. You can have it since you're starving. And I know how much you love pie.” 

There are a few heartbeats of silence before you hear the scrape of Dean's chair on the floor and he grabs you by the shoulders, turning you around to envelop you in a tight hug and trapping your arms at your sides. 

You're so stunned that you can't find the strength to move. This close, he smells mostly like laundry detergent and the leather seats of the Impala with a faint cling aftershave and shampoo. The warmth of his body reminds you of how freezing cold it is outside. Your hands reach up and loosely grip the back of his button up shirt. 

Dean pulls back, hands gripping your shoulders, and stares into your eyes with a delighted and flirtatious grin. “You're amazing.” 

There are a few moments of silence as you debate whether or not he's going to kiss you and then, “Uh, am I... interrupting? I brought food.” 

Sam is standing in the doorway to the motel room, eyebrows furrowed and a slight frown on his lips. He has two bags in one hand with the keys and a full drink carrier in the other and there are a few snowflakes scattered in his hair from his short trek through the parking lot. 

You try to step away from Dean to help Sam get in the door but Dean's arms slide around you again, pulling you against his chest. “Sam, you're no longer in charge of getting me pie.” 

“What?” Sam gives Dean a weird look as he steps inside and pushes the door shut with his foot. His eyes land on the table as he draws closer to set down the bags. “Hey, is that a Hostess-”

“-fruit pie,” Dean finishes, releasing you to snatch up the warm pastry and taking the biggest bite possible out of it. “It's mine, you can't have it,” he mocks Sam with food in his mouth. 

“Gross,” you and Sam agree.


End file.
